House of Cards
by Mello's Favorite Reject
Summary: Look what I have built. Stand with me, and watch it fall. Can you see it? Look at it. Please, look… before it's gone. OneShot


**Title:** House of Cards

**Summary:** Look what I have built. Stand with me, and watch it fall. Can you see it? Look at it. Please, look… before it's gone.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN. At most, I own clever wordplay.

**Author's Note:** I'm depressed, so sue me. Wrote this up. Here ya go.

…

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A broken bottle that I didn't drink from. Cracked lenses that are not mine. But I haven't the heart to throw them away. You drank that alcohol, didn't you? You threw that bottle down; I saw you. And those lenses –the orange ones, those belonged to your best friend; he was your friend, not mine. It's not my fault he died in that car accident.

You are Mello. Your friend was Matt.

Glass on the floor from where dishes had been thrown. So much trash littering every flat surface, be it the floor, a tabletop, or a counter. Pills are sprinkled across the stained and wrinkled bedspread; the opened pill container lost somewhere amongst the mess. The paint on the walls is chipped and faded. The wood is splintered. The roof leaks and there are bugs crawling between the carpet fibers. Turning a light off and flicking it on, I can see the roaches scurry to hide.

This is home.

Black and blue. Yellow and green. A pale canvas with red liquid falling to where gravity pulls it. Eyes that are empty and full of a sorrow that cannot be forgiven or understood. Hands that shake as they dip into the debris that surrounds me, just trying to mend what no one else can.

This is me.

I used to be pale and immaculate. I used to hate messes. I used to sit around and put puzzles together and watch you destroy your surroundings… and your friend. I never expected you to come to me one day, bloody goggles in hand and a broken heart beating in your chest. I never expected you to want me to fix you. Like a puzzle.

You were broken once.

I thought you'd changed. You stopped your destructive behavior. You would watch me build card castles so high, I needed a stepstool to reach the top. You would sit there, eating chocolate and just… staring. And I found myself smiling at you; I never used to smile.

I was happy then.

You found that alcohol; I don't know why or where you found it. You grew cruel and twisted again. You remembered those days, back at Wammy's. You remembered being in Second place. And you grew to hate me again.

You hit me.

And I put up with you, even as you grew more and more violent by each passing day. To escape your wrath and my own pain, I put on a mask of apathy and continued to stack my cards, hoping to remind you of something…

You smiled at me once.

You don't smile anymore. You're not here anymore. You left, on that death-trap called a motorcycle. Somewhere, in this house, in this mess, is the helmet you left behind. You took off on that cycle, and you made the front page of the newspaper the following Sunday.

You had an accident.

And I am alone. You showed me how to feel things. You made my defenses drop, and I shouldn't have let that happen. And even now, as I continue to stack my cards again, I am filled with feelings I don't fully understand.

I am confused.

And as my confusion and loneliness grows, the telltale marks of abuse fade. And the more I see them fade, the more fragile I feel. And the more fragile I feel, the more I want to grab a shard of glass from the floor.

And I grab that glass.

And I bring it to my wrist.

And as the coldness of it bites my skin, I watch those cards start to fall.

Because… it never was alright, was it? And it never will be. I spent so much time building everything up, and now… Wait. Look at it. Someone, please. I want someone to see it before it's gone. Please, just look at it. Take a picture or something. It's falling. Every last card… Look at it.

No.

No one will remember that masterpiece.

Just like… they won't remember me.

That house of cards, like myself, is doomed to rot in this mess, along with all of these thoughts, these feelings, and these memories.

_**End.**_

…

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**/Got depressed. Wrote this up. Review./**


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